


Hell Hath No Fury Rewrite

by SPNFangallovesSquirrel



Series: Dean [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, F/M, Hell, Minor Character Death, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 17:19:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNFangallovesSquirrel/pseuds/SPNFangallovesSquirrel
Summary: When Dean deals for Sam early in the Supernatural-verse, (Y/N) deals for Dean's soul.





	1. The Deal

****_How’d you get to this place? This godforsaken place?_  
  
You look around; take in your settings, finding it hard to believe that you, of all people are here.  
  
_At a crossroads._

“What the hell am I doing?” you groan to yourself. You lean against your shovel. You look down to the ground to see a small box, just waiting to be buried.

_Had you actually done it? Are you summoning that crossroads demon? Are you that insane?_

All you had to do was bury a friggin box.

What the hell lead you here? You choke back tears, not wanting to think of the fight you had just had with Dean.

* * *

**1 hour earlier** :

“Come on (Y/N), say something. Anything.” Dean is quiet. He almost doesn’t want your answer.

You brush past him and head to the kitchen, hoping Bobby has stocked up on beer. You find a cold one in the fridge, and down half of the drink before you notice Dean had followed after you.

“Babe?” he asks.

You sigh and take another sip of your beer. “You want  _me_  to say something?”

“Yeah. I’m not likin’ the silence.” He tries to take a step to you, but doesn’t see your hand out.  
  
You scoff. “Not liking the silence. Maybe you should’ve talked to me. Before you decide to off yourself.”  
  
“Gorgeous. Please.” He steps closer again, despite your still outstretched hand.

“Dean. No.” you’re abrupt, something that he hasn’t heard before. You’re usually the googly–eyed schoolgirl around him, almost soft in his hands or just his presence for that much.

“Well, then say something.” He stops, holding his hands out in a big, accusatory gesture almost.

“You want me to talk? How you talked to us when you made this convoluted decision to off yourself? Or the decision when you didn’t include us, your family?” you put your hands on your hips. “Pick one. We can talk about any of those.”

Dean lets out a frustrated groan, he didn’t want to talk about any of it. He would just drop it, and let it be.

“See, you don’t even want to talk to me, and you said you loved me.”

“(Y/N), babe. I do love you. I really do.”

“I’m sensing a but.”

“There is no but (Y/N). I do love you.” He counters, he tries stepping closer, but you hold your hands out and he stops.

“Then why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t we figure something else out? Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”

You choke back something between a laugh and a cry, and close your eyes. “Didn’t want me to worry? How about after everything went down? How do you think I’d feel then? How Sam and Bobby would feel?” He gives you a stone cold look. “You didn’t want me to worry, but you were content to let me cry over your dead body. To bury you? T – To watch as Hellhounds destroy your body and drag your stupid ass to hell?”

“I wasn’t thinking really. I wasn’t, but I was. I couldn’t just let my baby brother.” He’s starting to break, an emotion you rarely saw. “I couldn’t let my baby brother die.”

He lets a single, solitary tear stream down each cheek, and your features soften. You couldn’t be angry at him, even when he made your furious.

“You can’t be mad at me. Please. Bobby and Sam.”

“I know. They’re as furious as I am.” You cut him off. “I should be too. I should be hacked off.” You step up to him, placing a hand on his cheek. He shies away, expecting a harsher touch, but leans in when he feels your soft touch. “But I can never stay angry at you for long. Just like Sam and Bobby. I love your stubbornness too much. We love you.”

You stand on your tiptoes and give him a kiss.

“I can’t leave knowing you hate me.” His arms snake around you, pulling you tightly to his body.

You tense at his last remark, but put your forehead to his chest and breathe in.

“I will never hate you.” You look up to him, and place your hands on his chest. “But I can’t understand. Even though I can sympathize with you. You lost your brother, even if it were for a small moment in time. Don’t you think I don’t know how you feel? How it feels?” The pang of hurt is evident on your face. You can’t hide that you are still hurt over your big sister. “We could’ve talked it out. Done something different.” You pull out of his grasp and sit down on the arm of the couch. “I’ve lost my sister, do you think I don’t know how it feels? That I’ve wanted to change that moment so many times?”

“Of course I know you know. He’s my baby brother. It’s my job to protect him. It’s always been that way.”

“And what about us Dean?” you ask standing. “Who protects Sam? Bobby? Me? Who keeps my heart safe? I thought it was you, but maybe I’ll always play second fiddle to Sam.”

“Babe.” Dean pleads. You push past him to find the back door. “BABE! (Y/N)! 

“I’m going for a drive. I’ll be back.” You look to him before opening the door. “Don’t follow me.”

“(Y/N).” he tries to approach me, but you glare up at him, eyes like daggers.

“Dean, I need my space. Just give me a few hours. Alone.”

Dean nods, respecting your wish, retracting from trying to hold you. You close the door behind you and run out into the night of Bobby Singer’s junkyard.

* * *

How the hell  _did_  you get here? To this point in time?

Oh yeah, you remember. A demon kills your big sister. She was all the family you had left, so you go all vengeful. But when you get in too deep with a coven of witches, Bobby Singer saves your life, and takes you under his wing. Almost like the father you never had.

You spend your days training with Bobby at the junkyard, only hunting the easy ones. Salts and burns, sometimes a lone vampire. One day Bobby finds that you’re ready to go on your own, and sends you to help Dean and Sam Winchester track down a skin changer.  
  
Moments up to the kill were awkward. It wasn’t until after all was said and done, sexual tension brimming, that something happened.

A one–night stand turned into multiple nights, and eventually Dean asked you to join them.  
  
_It was just that three heads were better than two_.  
  
He couldn’t say it, but you knew for a while that he possibly might want you by his side, or  _loved_  you.  
  
Then that one fateful day of meeting Dean Winchester, and almost a year later, the truth finally came out.

Dean sold his soul for Sam.

It was rather poetically beautiful in a way. You were grateful Dean cared for Sam. Sam was your best friend, and being around him made you feel equally as safe as you did Dean. You didn’t want to lose Sam as much as Bobby or Dean did. But with Dean, you felt loved, wanted, safe. You wanted to lose Dean even less.

The thought of him not being by your side, even if you didn’t get the “apple pie life”, your heart seems to break in to a million little pieces. You want to cry like a little child.

And right about now, you also feel betrayed. Like he didn’t love you enough to come to you for help.

You angrily kick at a pile of rocks and they go flying into the dark. You just wanted to fix things, but felt so helpless, and you hated that feeling more than anything.

You stalk angrily over to your mustang, the coal black paint glistening in even the dim lamp light. Some spots had rusted away from years of weather, wear and tear, but this tank got you anywhere you needed. You double check the trunk, making sure you have all you need, and then you double check the magazine of your gun.

You hop in the driver’s side, thinking you can see Dean in the rear view mirror as you peel out of the junkyard.

* * *

You drive aimlessly for about ten minutes. You’re not even sure you know what you’re doing. You stop and find that you are coming on a crossroads. You mindlessly get out of your car, and rummage for the small metal box and a shovel.

You find the utmost middle point of the crossroads, and start digging. Just enough to bury the box.

And then you’re back to where you started. Not knowing what the hell to do.

Do you do it?

Do you hightail it out of there, let the man you love suffer? Or do you take his place? Do you make sure he and Sam can live, but make him grieve even more? Or will he even grieve you? Will he even mourn your loss? Will he go back to the way he did things, one – night stands?

“God, am I being selfish?” you sigh, looking up to the stars. You don’t even know why you’re calling on him. You just don’t believe anymore. In heaven, in him. In angels. You surely know you believe in hell. You’d seen it plenty. “I mean, I know Dean isn’t perfect, and Sam’s made mistakes. Hell, so have I. But do they really deserve this piece of shit life?” you look down and kick around the light dirt and gravel, letting little plumes of dust kick up. “Do you even know we’re in this predicament?”

You sigh and look down. It’s now or never, you have to do it. You might try and talk yourself out of it. You pad the dirt on top of the box, and mutter those five words.

“ _Daemon, esto subiecto voluntati meae._ ”

The silence is deafening. You wait for what feels like an eternity for the demon to appear.

You almost turn to leave, but find yourself stop as an acidic voice calls to you. “Well, well, well. I never thought I’d see the day when (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would come to a crossroads. Where’s shaggy puppy dog and the cute dumb one?”

“I’m alone.” You lean against your shovel, ready to use it as a weapon if needed. The brunette with eerie red eyes looks to you.

“Alone, so I’m assuming you want to make a deal for something?”

“Good for you, you’re smart. I didn’t think you guys had brains.” You retort.

“If you don’t state your case, I’m leaving. I don’t have time to BS with a measly hunter. 

“My soul. For Dean’s.” you mutter quickly.

“Oh, so you don’t like what the boyfriend did? Do you?”

“My soul for his.” You repeated, voice angrier 

“I don’t want your soul. I kind of like that I have Dean Winchester’s soul ready for hell. It’s kind of poetic.”

“How about, you take my soul, instead of his and I won’t kill you where you stand.” You are trying to think of something to stall 

A part of you is hoping that Dean didn’t listen to you, and followed you, that the impala will come up roaring, and your white knight will come to rescue you.

If not, Bobby, your other white knight. Or even Sam, a Knight in Training.

“Kill me? With what, a shovel?” she steps towards you, your grip tightens on your shovel. “You can’t kill me with a measly spade.”

“Either way I see it, you take Dean’s soul; I’ll find a way to get back to you and destroy you, killing every demon in my way. You take mine, Dean and Sam will do the same. Come on, what’s one less measly hunter?” you ask mocking her 

“But Dean Winchester.”

“Is no slouch, I get it. He’s great. He’s a legend in your world, and ours. But I’m not too bad either. My soul is just as valuable as his.”

“Alright, make your case.”

_Ugh, that bitch! She was bargaining. You really hate demons right about now. Hell, you hate them all the time._

“Dean has what, a little under a year? I’ll take his place and you can have me. I won’t argue about a longer time to get my affairs in order. In fact, if you want. I won’t even tell Dean. When his time comes, your precious hellhounds can take me. You’re still getting a soul. Just not his. 

She sighs, contemplating your offer. “I don’t get you humans. Wiling to die for each other. The humanity is disgusting.”

“Well, what do you have to say? Because I will come back with a real weapon and kill you. You know we have one.”

“Hold on sister. I’m weighing my options. I know my boss wouldn’t like that I lost Dean Winchester’s soul, but I guess having (Y/N) (Y/L/N) instead is quite the consolation prize.” She looks to you. “Fine. Your soul in place of Dean Winchester’s.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?” you ask.

“You just have to put blind faith in a demon hun. Plus I don’t back down on my deals once their bound.”

“So what, do we bind it with blood?” you ask.

“Oh no. Something much more. Intimate.” She chuckles evilly, she steps closer and pulls you in, planting a kiss on your lips.

* * *

As you’re gagging and coughing from the uncomfortable intrusion, the demon disappears. The deal is done.

You stand there for a moment, not really knowing what to do.

_A drink. You need a drink._

You dig out your little box and throw it in the trunk, leaving no trace you were there. You peel out, leaving a cloud of dust behind you.

You sit alone at the bar. The loud ruckus of bikers keeps you to yourself, and you drink enough for two grown men.

“No, yeah Dean. I found her.” You turn to see Sam approaching the bar.

“Go away.” You yell. It’s almost for Dean to hear, but you want Sam to leave you alone too.

“I’ll get her home. I promise. Yes Dean, I’ll get her home. I promise. Yeah. I’ll get her home safe.” He says. He closes his phone and sits down next to you, silence falls between the two of you.

“’m not goin home Sam.” You state stubbornly.

“(Y/N).” he sighs exasperatedly. “Come home. We’ll talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about Sam.” You sigh, leaning in to the bar. You put your head in your hand and take a sip from your beer. “What’s done is done. He made his decision. My home is gone.”  
  
“Don’t be dramatic (Y/N).” Between the blurry vision and two bodies of Sam, you can see him shake his head and laugh. “I know, and I hate it as much as you do, but I think he needs you right now. He’s going to beat himself up over this if it isn’t resolved between you two. You know him as well as I do. Sometimes better.”

“It just hurts too damn much.” You sigh heavily and down the remnants of your beer.

“We’ll think of something. Until then, you need to come home with me. We need you.” Sam looks to you. His face softens, and the corners of his lips turn into a small smile.

A better part of your judgment wants you to run before Sam can catch you, the other part wants you to stay and drink more before letting Sam take you home.

“Fine.” You sigh heavily. “I’ll come with you, but I won’t be happy about it.”

Sam chuckles and takes your hand, holding you steady as you hop off your barstool. You sway unsteadily like a little child, and give in to Sam as he picks you up in his arms.

“You better not be driving my ‘stang.” You mumble as he steps out in the fresh air. He lets you stand supporting your weight against his body. You breathe out, letting little puffs of play around your face as you breathe.

“Bobby’s here. He’ll take your car back.” Sam replies. He tries to let you go, but you sway and almost topple to the ground. “How much did you drink?”

“Nly’ a few burrs.” You let out a small burp that slurs your words and giggle. “Oopsy. Sorry SSSamm.” You elongate his name and pat him on the arm as he grabs your wrist.

“She’s a lot worse than I thought she’d be.” Bobby approaches, leaning against the impala.

“Well, wha di you espect, ta fine me sober, chattin abou the weather now?” you hiccup and look to Bobby.

“I know kid. I know. Just give me the keys to your car. I’ll get it home.” Bobby replies.

You fumble through your pockets for what seems a few minutes, until you pull out your little keychain with the Mustang’s keys. Sam swiftly pulls you to his arms, cradling one under your knees, and one at your back, and walks to the impala. Bobby quickly drives away, but you stop Sam.

“Am I good enough?” through your blurred vision, you see Sam question you with a comical glance. “Am I good enough?”

“Good enough for what, (Y/N)?” he asks. He buckles you in the seat and squats down to your level.

“For him. For his love. Am I good enough for Dean’s love?” you ask.

“I don’t think he’s worthy of your love right now. Nothing is wrong with you.” Sam replies.

You grab his hand as he’s adjusting the seatbelt strap and you squeeze it. “You always know what to say Sammy. Thanks for being my bestest friend.”

Sam pats your hand and closes the door. By the time he reaches the driver’s side, you’re crying, quiet enough that he didn’t catch it at first, but hard enough for Sam to feel guilty enough.

By the time you arrive at Bobby’s junkyard, you’re barely awake. You’ve cried all you can cry, and you just want the pounding headache to go away. Between the bar and the house, you had managed to roll down the window, and your head was leaning against the door. You can hear footsteps rushing out to you, hitting the gravel as if they’re running.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dean’s gravelly voice yells at Sam.

“She’s drunk. What did you expect? She’s drunk and she’s hurt.” Sam retorted.

He turns to you. You’re trying to mess with your seat belt, and can’t quite get the button to release you from your confines.

“Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? 

“M’ jus. M’ jus a little drunk.” You finally release your seatbelt and laugh at your triumph. You wrench the door open pushing Dean aside. You step out, not taking in to account the loose seatbelt, and your foot catches in the strap. You take a swan dive, almost belly flopping on the gravel. “M’ jus gonna stay here.” You bury your head into your arms, and start to cry again.

By now, Sam and Bobby have approached the passenger side of the car.

“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Dean waves them off and looks back to you. “I’ll get her inside.”

* * *

“You’re an idjit, you know that?” you could hear Bobby yelling at Dean. You had passed out; probably cried yourself to sleep, and when you came to, Dean wasn’t anywhere near where you were. Your body ached and you looked down to see your dirty clothes still on your body. Dean had put a cup of water and a bottle of aspirin on the coffee table in front of you.

“Well?” Bobby’s gruff voice rang through the house. Dean was silent, he was taking the verbal lashing like a champ. Even though it was a basic question, coming from Bobby, it meant more. “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

You could hear Dean sigh. “I don’t know what to say Bobby. What would you have done if it were you? If you were me, and you had lost Sam? What would you have done?”

“Damn it Dean, this isn’t about me. I care for you and Sam, you’re like my sons. My family. But so is (Y/N). I have known this kid since she was a baby. Hell, I held her on the day she was born. Her dad was my best mate. I held her crying, broken body when her dad and sister died. I have to think about her as well. I would clearly have gone to bat for any of you, but you’re not seeing my point.”

You’re sure Bobby is looking at Dean, whom probably looks like some lost puppy being brutally kicked. “I don’t know what to do Bobby. I didn’t want to lose Sam, but I sure as hell don’t want to lose (Y/N).

“Well, you made your decision, and now you’re going to have to deal with it. You made the deal. Now you’re going to have to deal with her broken heart and mood swings for the next year.” Bobby froze, you had just walked in to the kitchen where they were talking. “I. (Y/N), how.”

“Oh stow it Bobby. I’m not some China doll, I made a stupid mistake and got drunk after hearing some really shitty news. I’ll get through it.” You murmur. You fill your cup up with water again and down it. You turn to Dean and give him your best smile. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I hope you’ll be in bed when I’m done?” You kiss him on the cheek, and then pat Bobby’s arm and walk off gingerly to the bathroom.

You let what seemed like hours pass as the hot water hits your aching joints right. You shut the water off and methodically get out, drying your body, and slowly slipping in to one of Dean’s shirts. You dry your hair (you hated going to bed with wet hair; it would just turn into a frizzy, matted mess,) and finish doing your nightly routine.

Then you slowly pad down the hallway leading to the room you shared with Dean. You could hear Sam and Bobby talking downstairs, probably about Dean and you almost wanted to join them. You almost do, when you catch a glimpse of Dean peacefully sleeping in bed, not a care in the world. You sigh and forget about the other hunters, and head in to the room.

He’s sound a sleep on the bed, tucked against the wall. He was on the outer edge of the bed, making it impossible to get in without waking him.

“Why?” you mutter, looking to his soft features. They’re not as hard, they’re relaxed. “Why did I fall in love with you?” 

He mutters your name in his sleep, rolling to his back. His cheeks are flushed, yet visibly tear stained. He was internally going through something, and you had been the root of that cause. You crawl over him, settling in the sheets next to the hunter. He lets out a contented sigh as you join him, turning to you, almost holding out his arms. You hesitate, but find yourself nestling into him.  
  
Your lips find his neck. His arms tighten like a vice around you, making you feel comfortable,  _safe_.

“(Y/N).” he mutters. His voice quivers in to a small whimper. You feel his fingers run through your hair, a strong hand on your cheek, and his calloused thumb sends shivers up your spine.

“Shh. I’m here. Shh.” Your fingers find their way to his cheek, and he realizes your proximity. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

You both adjust in bed, Dean’s head makes his way to your chest. You silently run your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. You kiss his forehead and slowly fall asleep, Dean’s breathing lulling you to the point of exhaustion.  
  
You’re tired, but you lie there, still trying to let sleep come to you. Your mind is drifting a hundred different places, trying to balance everything in a calm, orderly fashion.

You keep the what – if’s running through your mind, hoping that that will desensitize you until you’re asleep.

It’s the only thing to help you through it all.

 _A little under a year_. You think to yourself.  _I can do it_.


	2. Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories that the reader goes through on each of her birthdays before she gets dragged to hell.

****After the failed attempt to drown yourself in your sorrows at the bar, you kept yours and Dean’s deals to yourself. You didn’t want to mention it, for fear of blabbing, or for fear of breaking down, and you had already cried all you felt you could. You wanted to keep your deal out of the air, so they wouldn’t weed information out of you. If at all costs, you’ will keep this secret from him. You wagered the possibility of telling Dean, you just didn’t want to chance his reaction. You wanted to end this life on good terms with the man you loved so much.

So you go back to work, trying to have a semblance of some sort of normalcy.

The first few weeks, every room that held the two of you, held concrete tension. It took all the power you could muster to even keep a straight face when looking at Dean. When you were alone, you were a wreck, a mess of tears and emotions. You had to shut yourself in a bathroom so you could run the water and just cry. You weren’t sure if it were for your impending doom, or the thought that Dean could have been meeting his fate soon enough. That and the mixture of missing the lack of attention you had from Dean, and the thought of leaving him left you depressed.

After a few weeks of self induced – intoxication, the look on Bobby’s face seemed to snap you out of your trance. You would make the most of the end, even though they didn’t know what was coming.

“Hey, can I join you?” you asked quietly, walking in to the room you had been sharing. Lately you had slept on the couch, or Dean would. Tonight, you didn’t want to be alone, despite how depressed or angry you felt. 

“Hey. Sure. Of course.” Dean replies quietly.

You quickly shed your jeans and shirt; and slip in to one of Dean’s plaid button ups. You take a seat on your side of the bed and lean against the wall.

You look at Dean, who doesn’t seem to know what to say, he hasn’t seen you in weeks, except for the hunts you take together, or when you’re in the kitchen. It’s as if you didn’t exist. “I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting.” Your voice is quiet, and you aren’t sure if Dean caught it. You sigh to yourself as Dean grabs your hand tightly 

“It’s okay.” He doesn’t know what to say. In his mind, he is still at wrong for his actions, and causing you the pain you’ve been in.

You situate yourself comfortably as you possibly can, and hug your pillow to your chest. Dean slowly lies down, cautiously assessing whether or not you want to be touched. When you don’t shy away his arms wrap around you tightly, rolling you to your back. You give in to him, kissing him on the lips biting on his luscious bottom lip. He kneels between your legs only to pull off his shirt, and break the kiss for a moment, before coming back into your arms.

You catch momentum and roll Dean to his back, straddling his lap. It’s in that moment that you forget everything. You let your body free fall, forgetting everything.

You find no solace in the last few weeks and days of your life. You almost wanted to tell Dean your  _dirty little secret_ , but couldn’t bring yourself to. You rather enjoyed him wanting to be with you in  _his_  last days. You knew you were going to hell for that, but the joke didn’t seem to feel funny to you anymore.

Most nights were spent stargazing on the impala. You’d drink beers, talk or reminisce. Sometimes you’d just lay there, holding tight to him. You would rub patterns in his chest, he would caress your jaw, neck, any part of your body he could put his hands on.

Days were spent with Bobby. When you weren’t hunting, or helping the boys, you were researching and drinking with the old man. You’d just talk; the old hunter wanted to make sure you were okay with the future events. That you were okay with what was happening.  
  
 _Little did he know_.

* * *

_**1997** _

_“HEY BOBBY!” a voice calls out. Your seventeen – year – old self slowly pulls the gun from the back of your pants. You pull the barrel back slowly and make your way towards the voices calling out to your surrogate dad. If it weren’t almost midnight, you wouldn’t be so worried._  
  
“Maybe the old drunk isn’t here.” Another voice speaks to the other. It looks like a son, a smaller almost similar replica to the older man. You point the gun in his face. “Ooh. Hey. Um. Hi. Is Bobby here?”  
  
“Who the hell is asking?” you tighten your grip on your gun, and shove it closer to the trio. The younger kid, looks a little startled as he walks up.  
  
“I’m John Winchester and these are my sons Dean and Sam.” He points to each of them as he names them.  
  
“Who are you?” Dean, the older one asks.  
  
“Well, if you have to know. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” you state.  
  
“No shit. You’re (Y/F/N)’s kid? How’s the old man?” John asks.  
  
“Probably sipping a corona, trying to get past the pearly gates.” You lower your gun, but your fingers keep a grip on the gun, finger ready at the trigger.  
  
“How long?” Sam asks. He seems to be the one that seems to care.  
  
“Um, never met the guy. It was right after I was born. I’ve been living with Bobby Ever since. Not that it really made any difference. He basically raised me. He’s my dad.” You motion for them to come in, and they follow you to the kitchen. “Beer is in the fridge, Bobby is on a hunt. He might be a while.”  
  
“Is there any way we can rest a few days?” the older kid asks. He pushes ahead and follows you, leading the pack. “We haven’t really had a chance to sleep.”  
  
You nod and motion to the small living room. “Couch and floor is all we really got.”  
  
“I’ll take it.” John says. He meanders towards the living room claiming the couch before anyone can. You pull out as many blankets and pillows as you can from various hiding spots, and cover John. It looks as if John had been doing most of the driving, and with in a few moments of his head hitting the pillow, soft snores are can be heard from the kitchen. The two boys are still left to their own defenses in the kitchen, looking hungry and rather worn down.  
  
“You guys hungry?” you ask walking back to them.Sam, the younger one nods eagerly, and then Dean goes along with it. It looks as if they had used up all their money on supplies. Or alcohol for John.  
  
“Okay.” You reply. “It’s Mac N’ Cheese, or my favorite, a tuna melt. And I make a damn good one.” The boy’s nod and smile, requesting your famous tuna melt.  
  
By the time their stomachs are full, you have broken through their shy barriers. The boys are talking about what a fourteen and eighteen year old like. You hardly take notice, until Dean starts talking about rock n’ roll and classic cars.   
  
Something you’re very fond of.  
  
“What is your dream car?” Dean asks.  
  
“My dream car?” you ask, looking to Dean. Sam had finally managed to fall asleep at the table twice, so his brother gently escorted him to the only other couch to sleep. You two were finally all alone.  
  
Dean nods and waits for your answer “A vintage black Z28 Camaro. That or one, yellow with black racing stripes.”  
  
Dean looked at you as if he had found a missing piece of his soul. “I just love the growl of a classic cars’ engine. Music to my ears.”  
  
“Where have you been all my life?” he laughs and pulls you out of your seat.  
  
“Where are you taking me?” you ask. You laugh a little as he jerks you forward.  
  
Dean rushes to the front door and outside in the night. Out front, is a gorgeous black Chevy Impala. The kind of classic muscle car that you absolutely loved.  
  
“Oh my god. This is gorgeous.” He lets go of your hand, and you run to it. “Can I?” you turn to look at him and he nods, probably smiling as big as you are. You run your fingers lightly over the body of the hood, marveling in her beauty, even in the dark. “Man. This is the American dream. This tank is beautiful.”  
  
“You have no idea how turned on I am right now, do you?” he asks looking to you.  
  
You chuckle and lean against the passenger door. “I may have an idea.” You walk toward the hood, and he follows you. He gives you a quick peck on the cheek and boosts you to the hood. He clambers on next to you and looks up to the night sky.  
  
The stars are littering the sky, dotting a black blanket with small white specks of light. As you finally get comfortable, leaning against the windshield, Dean sits next to you looking up. You say nothing, you speak of nothing. Silence just builds between you as you revel in the beauty. The beauty of the night sky, the car, and Dean Winchester sitting next to you.  
  
That was the night that you fell in love with Dean Winchester. Just a mere boy of eighteen.

* * *

_**1999** _

_After that night of stargazing, it was as if Dean Winchester fell off the face of the earth. You had John Winchester to thank for that._  
  
It wasn’t until two years later that you happened across Dean Winchester again.  
  
On your nineteenth birthday, none the less.  
  
“It is so good to see you.” He says, his arms are wrapped tightly around you. He presses his body against yours and kisses your forehead.  
  
“It has been forever.” You state. You breathe in his smell – gunpowder, earth and leather – and tighten your grip around his waist. “I’ve missed you.”  
  
“I’ve missed you too princess.” He smiles, and tilts your chin up so you are looking to him. His green eyes are a gorgeous emerald tone, and his long lashes dust his cheekbones as he blinks. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

 __  
“Yeah. I guess.” You laugh. His lips brush the bridge of your nose, as his hands pull you closer to him.  
  
“So, what do you want for your birthday, pretty lady?” he winks, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours.  
  
“Well, I think I want a birthday kiss from Dean Winchester. Maybe a few other things.” You wink and pull him closer to you.  
  
He smiles, knowing what you’re talking about, and leads you to the impala.

_“Man, that was amazing.” You smile breathlessly, resting your head on his chest. You both regulate your breathing slowly, listening to the calm of the rain pattering against the car. You breathe in heavily, kissing his chest lightly. “Happy birthday to me.”_

 

_“Yeah it was. Happy birthday to you.” He chuckles. He cranes his neck to kiss your forehead, he runs his fingers through your hair. He slowly reaches down to his jacket on the car floor, he digs through the pockets, but turns, grunting when he can’t find what he’s looking for. “Ah. Ah – ha! I found it.” He turns to you, and drops a thin silver chain down for you to see, a small golden cross hanging there. “I thought this fit you. I’m sorry it isn’t all gold, or all silver.”_

_“No.” you smile at him as he clasps the chain around your neck. You prop your elbows on his stomach and rub his chest, provoking a moan. “I love it. It’s perfect.” You give him a kiss on the lips and bury back in to his chest, the rain lulling you both to sleep._

* * *

_**2001** _

_Darkness envelopes you as you sneak along the fence line. It’s about three minutes to midnight, you’re stuck on a vengeful ghost haunting a family in Massachusetts. Bobby let’s you go alone, knowing you can handle it, knowing that he doesn’t have anyone else. You’re about to go in to the house when you hear a loud scream come from the house._

_“Oh hell no.” you mutter. “Not my hunt!” You run at full speed towards the house. You make it to the door when you hear the scream again, recognizing the tone of the voice. The spirit was tossing around Dean, and he was trying his best to keep his own. Of course the idiot had to go in, half cocked. The door shakes as his body slams against the wood, the material buckling slightly. Dean lets out a small groan, and falls to the ground with a thud. You fumble for your lock picking tools, and Dean gets tossed out of the way again._

_You manage to pick the lock successfully and open the door. Before you can even brandish your gun, Dean sails across the room with a precise manner, landing right on top of you_

_He gives you that shit – eating grin, even though you can tell he’s in pain. “Heya (Y/N/N). How’s it goin’?”_

_“Save the niceties for later Dean.” You push him off of you. “And get off of me.”_

_He pulls you up and to your feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”_

_“I could ask you the same thing. This is my case Dean Winchester.” You prop your flashlight under your gun and point it into the dark hall._

_“You’re angry at me.” He grins, trying to ruse you. “Why are you angry at me?”_

_“I could give you a few ideas, but I don’t want to make it easy for you Winchester. You can guess.” You walk forward down the hall, leaving Dean confused at the door._

_It was a simple salt and burn, or what you thought it would be. After twenty minutes of being tossed and thrown around the room, you were able to find the body, buried under the concrete in the basement._

_“Come on (Y/N/N). Why are you mad at me?” Dean is at your side, patching up a long tear in your shoulder. You wince as the cheap alcohol spills over the wound, and grunt, trying to pull away from him._

_“I don’t like people taking over my cases.” You grumble. You can feel Dean spreading something over the wound. You think it’s Neosporin or something._

_“That isn’t it. I think I know you enough.” He lightly kisses a tender spot on your neck, the one he knows will get to you, and then places a piece of gauze on your shoulder._

_“It’s been two years Dean. To the day in fact. Not a word, a phone call, or a_ _hello_ _.” You look towards the windshield of the impala, trying not to break._

_Why?_  
  
No how?

_How the hell did you fall for the jerk so fast?_

_“Don’t think I forgot about you.” You feel him get off the hood, and he stands in front of you. “You still wear it?” He motions to the chain still hanging on your neck. You rarely take it off, only to sleep or to shower._

_You put your hand to your neck, holding on to the small cross and chain he had given you._

_“Of course. I have very few possessions that mean anything to me, and this is one of them.” You give a smug smile, and fold your arms. Dean gives the scratches on your face his attention. You wince as a calloused finger brushes against a gash on your cheek, and despite all your pain, all your anger; you lean in to his touch._

_“Happy birthday.” He says quietly. He reaches into the old leather jacket and pulls out a little bag. “It isn’t much, but I hope you like it.”_

_You sigh. You almost don’t want to forgive him, but his softened smile sends you over the edge. You drop the contents in your palm, and a small skeleton key and an old – fashioned lock._

_“A lock and key?” you are a little confused, but you don’t know if it’s from being tossed around by a ghost, or that you’re really just that. **Confused**._

_“I know that it’s been a hard two years before you. Hell, it’s been hard for me, but I want you to know that you hold lock and key to my heart. Add that to your necklace. So when I can’t be with you, it can remind you.”_

_“Why can’t we just hunt together?” you ask you fumble for the clasp of your necklace. Dean sees you struggle, and stops your hands, to help you._

_“You know my dad says love gets in the way of doing our jobs. You know he isn’t like this. He hates_ _love_ _. Showing emotion. It isn’t like him. Since. Since he lost his one love.” He says._

_“This isn’t really like you either.” You string the lock and key on the chain, and Dean puts it back on for you. “What happened to no chick – flick moments?”_

_“I don’t think my mom would be very proud, if I hated being in love. You would’ve loved my mom. You two would’ve gotten along really well.” It breaks your heart to see him seem so low._

_He was trying. You had to give him that._

_You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. “I love it.” You kiss his neck lightly, making him tighten his arms around you._

* * *

_**2005** _

_Four years later._ _FOUR FRICKIN’ YEARS LATER_ _. This time you aren’t angry at Dean._ _You are, but you aren’t really angry_ _. You blame John Winchester. But you don’t know what to do when Dean Winchester knocks on the front door of Bobby’s house._

_You are about read to slap him._

_“Dean.” You speak curtly as you possibly can. You shove your hands in your pockets, as to stop yourself from harming the hunter._

_“(Y/N).” he breathes in. “You look good. Damn good.”_

_“Flattery.” You laugh and walk in the house, shaking your head. “I should’ve known you’d try to butter me up. Bobby isn’t here. He’s on a hunt. And I’m leaving as well, so this better be quick.”_

_“Oh come on, why so pissy?” he laughs and his green eyes are sparkling. He has a mischievous grin on his face._

_“I don’t know who to blame Dean. You or your dad? It’s been four years. Hell of a way to treat the woman who holds the lock and key to your heart.” You make a face as you spew that line sarcastically, that line that he had given you. You start shoving clothes in your backpack, avoiding the look he’s giving you._

_“Don’t be that way (Y/N/N).” he tries to make your pet name sound endearing, but you’re skating passed upset right to livid. You look up and give him a glare and go back to shoving clothes in your bag. “Where are you going?”_

_“Anywhere but here.” You brush past him to the little bathroom, and start piling all your toiletries into a small bag. You can feel that he’s followed you. “What are you doing here?” That was a little sharper than you intended it to be._

_“Uh.” He breathes in, trying to find a way to break it to you._ _Shit, this ought to be good_ _, you thought to yourself. “My dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”_

_“I am not going to pretend that I care about that man. Or is it your fault you haven’t talked to me in four years?” you brush past him and back to your little room. You ram your shoulder in to his just for added emphasis._  
  
You were angry and he had to know.

_“He’s on a hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a few days.” He sits down on the bed and the backpack falls to the wood floor. Dean is quick to catch it before the contents spill to the floor and make a mess._

_“And what am I going to do with this information?” you ask. You put your hands on his shoulders. “When you got here, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss you or punch you in the face_ _Dean_ _.”_

_“Okay. I get that. I understand. I deserve that one. I’m terrible at relationships. I. I just need your help. I’m worried.”_

_“What about your brother?” you huff, grabbing the backpack from him._

_“I’m going to get him, but I think we should fix this.” He motions to the two of you._

_“This? Oh my god!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You think there is a this anymore?” you motion between the two of you. You grip your hips with your hands, and grit your teeth.  
  
“Is there?” he asks hopefully.  
  
“_ _This_ _isn’t a thing anymore.” His face drops slowly, his hopes almost shattered that you would be gone. “_ _This_ _can’t happen with only one person thinking about_ _this_ _._ _This_ _…”_  
  
You’re emphasizing ‘this’ each time you talk, motioning between the two of you, but he quickly stops you, planting his lips on yours. It’s chaste at first, you’re trying to pull away, but in seconds, you give in. You moan as his hands make their way up your back, his rough hands sending sparks up your skin. His tongue dives in your mouth, tasting like spearmint, coffee and whiskey. Your hands cup his face, pulling him tightly to you.

_“I love you (Y/N). I love you so much.” He comes up for air, and presses his forehead to yours._

_“I love you too, but you’ve got a lot of making up to do for the past four years.”_

_“Anything for you.” He mutters._

* * *

_**Present day** _

_You squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can. A loud howl breaks in the night, sending your eyes, and even Dean, Sam and Ruby’s eyes look out to nothing. The day has come. You silently say your goodbyes; silently make peace with your demons. You silently will the tears away, knowing you couldn’t cry._

_Not now._  
  
You don’t want the last thing the boys see is to see you crying. You’re very stubborn and proud that way.

_You hear a low growl and four invisible footsteps make claw marks that dig into the hardwood floor. Small shavings of wood spray upward, and fall to the ground._

_In an instant, you can feel the hellhound’s claws dig deep into your torso, and blood starts to seep through your white shirt. A large jaw clamps over your arm, sending blood pouring on to the table you were plastered to. You let out a blood – curdling scream as the hound bites down on your ankle pulling you off the table._

_He’s alive, that’s all you can think. Hell can’t take him today. The last face; the last thing you see as your life slips away, is Dean’s._


	3. I Survived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone of course saves the reader from the pit. But before the reader finds herself back with Dean, Sam & Bobby, she goes through how it felt like in hell.

You scream.

That’s all you can do to make sure your scared and frightened self isn’t forgotten.

Day in and day out, a gaunt woman with long features finds you. With out a word, the woman slices in to you, her weapon; a rusty medical scalpel. She takes you to the brink of death, every time; your heart seconds away from stopping.  
  
At the end of the day, like magic; you are whole again. Your body is clear of death, decay and mortal wounds, but the white – hot pain is still there. The memories are still clear, the nightmare would haunt you forever.

“You ready pet?” she would ask. When you could regain your strength, you’d pull against the chains, but tire quickly. Nothing could help the constant pain and the constant reminder you couldn’t do anything.

“Go to hell bitch!” you sputter. Your mouth is full of blood, and you spray that mouthful of blood and saliva at her; it masks the right side of her face in a dark crimson.

She angrily flicks the liquid off her face, it sprays the concrete floor. “I’m already here.” She grabs your jaw in her hand, the knife tip is pointed at you. This time, digging in to your throat. “Oh (Y/N). How much can your soul take?”

“I will fight you. I  _am_  already dead. It doesn’t matter.” You quip.

She gives a low, evil chuckle, and digs the tip right in the middle of your neck. The pain is only a dull sensation now. You have felt the same thing for what feels like years now. You have no sense of time, but you feel you’ve endured decades, centuries maybe.

“Do you feel that? Huh?” the woman – Azariah as she’s called – chuckles and presses the blade in your throat further.

“I will not give in to you.” Blood kisses your lips and you can taste the iron, or maybe the lack of iron in your system.

“Come on (Y/N). I will take you off the rack. You just have to torture a few souls. You know my offer.”

“Every day, you’ve asked me this, and every day. I give you the same answer.  _NO_.” you reply.

“Fine then. If that’s how it’s going to be.” She smirks, and the blade reaches it’s resting point, the hilt resting flush with your throat.

Blood fills your mouth, and in an instant you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You scream again.

You scream for help.  
  
You scream for anyone’s name,  _Dean_ ,  _Sam_ ,  _Bobby_ ; but to no avail. No one hears you. No one will listen to you.

No demon will enter your cell, and no human can hear you.

You scream Bobby’s name. The sound of his name on your lips brings you comfort. The only father you ever knew.

You scream for Sam. Despite being Dean’s little brother, he was a friend.  _Your best friend._ Someone who shared in the wealth of knowledge with you. Someone who didn’t tease and ridicule you when you poured over that lore book as if it were Harry Potter.

You scream for Dean. You yearn for his touch, the way he wraps his arms tightly around you. The way his green eyes dance in the light, that every emotion of his, elicited a new shade of green. You scream for Dean; over and over. You want him to save you. To help you. To hold you. You want to feel his lips on your skin, tracing and exploring your body. You want to lie next to him, skin on skin. You don’t want to be alone.

The blood is filling your mouth. Your airways quickly fill, and soon your lungs. You sputter, choking on your own blood. Your eyes go dark, and you drift into a dark nothingness.

That is your daily routine. Whether it was for only a day, a year, or even a century. That is what happened.

You never really imagined yourself to end up like this. To some, it would be a complete nightmare – calling for a loved one, and no one answers. Choking on your own blood. It isn’t one of those pansy – ass dreams you always have of vampires or werewolves chasing you. Not even the ones that you have – you turning into a monster, and killing the ones you loved. Those dreams were a walk in the park compared to what you lived day in and day out.

You half expected to die, being chased by the monsters you chased on a daily basis. But not this way. You didn’t regret taking Dean’s place, even if you came back by chance and he hated you.

You wake up, expecting to start your daily routine again. Azariah should come in, start her torture, and then end it with her knife embedded in your throat.

But you don’t.  
  
You wake with a start. Azariah isn’t hovering over you. Her long, gaunt face isn’t tormenting you, and your body feels to be at peace. You feel no pain, in fact you aren’t sure what you feel.

The dark slowly breaks through the barriers your eyes hold, and you’re lying on your back. Boxed in by six panels of old, weathered wood. You can hear your breath catch, and you place your palms on the panels on either side of you.  
  
“Shit. Really?” you panic. You were trapped, more than likely under ground.

You take a deep breath of stale air and start to push against the ceiling of your makeshift casket. Dirt sprays across your face and body, and you kick relentlessly until the ceiling caves in over you.

 _Air_. It’s something you’ve almost forgotten about. You forgot what fresh air felt like, or the sun on your skin. You had even forgotten the feel of dirt under your nails, blades of grass poking at your skin.

Once you squeezed through six feet of dirt, you gulped a deep breath of air, the sun blinding you. You sat, wondering what the hell to do.

You didn’t know where you were, how you got there, or what day or month it was. You also didn’t have a way to protect yourself if you were attacked.

The gravesite around you looked like a bomb had gone off and your six – foot prison was at the epicenter.

* * *

You walk for what seems hours until your feet almost give in, and you don’t want to walk any further.

A moment later, you can hear the thump of a loud speaker, the base terribly loud, even for the car’s distance. The car pulls up next to you, and the window rolls down.

“Hey good looking.” The kid – maybe nineteen or twenty – looks you up and down. He notices how dirty you are. “Are you alright?”

“Do you have water?” you ask, leaning in the window. You haven’t heard your voice, and it sounds terrible.

The breaks squeal as he puts the car in park, and he slowly hands you his unopened water. In about four long gulps, you polish off the water, only feeling partially better.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His brows furrow as he looks you up and down.

“I.” you clear your throat. You can smell rotten eggs wafting out of the car, but you hold your stature, you don’t want the demon to know you know. “I lost my camping party. Can you take me to the nearest town?”

“Uh, sure. Get in. We’re about five minutes from St. Joseph, Missouri.” You give him a smile and open the door, sighing in relief as your back hits the seat. “So.” The silence is awkward, and the kid is trying. “What’s your name?”

You clear your throat. The wear and tear of screaming in your little hell for what seemed like years, made your throat feels dry. It as actually rather painful. “Uh. Maggie.” You lie, giving him one of your aliases. “Maggie Cox.”

“Brian Goodall.” He says quietly. The car lurches forward; dust spraying a the wheels turn.

He leaves you alone. You make it known you don’t want to talk, you twist your back to him and look out the window. The five minutes goes by quickly, and you stop him outside of an abandoned gas n’ sip.

“Are you sure you want to be left here?” he asks.

“Yeah. This was our meeting spot. We were supposed to meet somewhere quiet if we got separated. This is where they’d go.” You open the door and bail out as quickly as you can. You yell behind you. “Thank you!”

Of course you weren’t meeting anyone there. You just wanted to get out of the car. After having to deal with Azariah for however long you did, you didn’t want to spend a second longer with a  _demon_.

The small gas n’ sip was in terrible condition. The wood of the building was chipped, a few windows were broken, and things were carried in a layer of dirt and grime. You slam your elbow into the glass of the door. You feel a sharp pain and a tear, blood starts trickling down your arm. You’re grateful you can feel the pain, it’s the only way you know you’re real. That you’re alive. That you will be able to go home to Dean.

There is really nothing there. You run to the fridge, water stacked in rows. You take a bottle and down it in almost four large swallows. For only a second your dry throat feels quenched, but it doesn’t last long. You grab another one and polish it off before searching for spray paint. When you finally find what you’re looking for, you spray yourself a devil’s trap into the floor. If that demon follows you in, you want to be prepared. Hopefully it is stupid enough too.

You direct yourself to the only sustainable food, trail mix and pull all the bags off the shelf and throw them in a plastic bag. You add more water, and all the salt you can find even. When you walk behind counter, the  _odds and ends_  drawer as you would probably call it has a loaded gun, a knife similar to Ruby’s, a flask filled with something, and a long silver knife. You place the smaller knife in your jacket with the flask. The gun will stay in hand with the larger blade. You empty the contents of the register into the bag and look around, hoping you’d find you missed something.

It felt like someone was trying to help you, maybe even warn you. Warn you of what was to come.

You hear a strangled cry, and then a, “you hunter bitch. Get me out of here!” Definitely a new demon.

“Now why would I want to do that?” you smirk, trying to be cocky.

“Because I will kill you.” He says, with as much confidence as he can muster. He looks at you holding the gun and blade together. “I know that much.”

“You know you’re stuck. I  _could_  exorcize you.”

“And I’ll find another unwilling victim then,” he replies.

“Or.” You wave the blade. “I bet this sucker could kill you right off the spot. No new bodies, no second chances.”

“Or how about the friend that’s been following you, just smites him?” a voice behind you asks. You turn quickly to see a man, barely taller than you, smiling at your presence. You let out faint scream and as you’re falling to the ground from exhaustion, you feel him catch you. “Oh great. Uh. Sorry.” He looks down to you. He slowly pries the blade from your fingers. You think you see him implode the demon, but you’re drifting too far into a somnolent darkness.

Although you feel you don’t sleep long, your nightmares are present. It’s the same thing, the same one you’ve had day in and day out. Azariah is tearing at your body, destroying you. Your only way to end the pain, is to say yes to her daily pleas for you to become the torturer, not the tortured.

You jump up with a start. You’re slightly lying on the counter, and your head feels heavy. You peek through one eye, and the man who had saved you, was in front of you; a hand on each side of your face.

“Please don’t kill me.” You murmured, hoping he’d hear you. You were so quiet, so scared, you couldn’t project your voice loudly.

“I don’t think a guardian angel’s job is to kill who they’re protecting.” He says. He rubs the side of your head, and then hooks his arm in yours to sit you up. “I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

“Guardian angel?” you ask incredulously. “Angels are real?” He bows his head a little and laughs. You mutter low, almost impressed. “Wow. This is really weird.”

“You believe in witches and demons and all that supernatural bull crap, but you don’t believe in angels?” he asks.

“No offense buddy,” you jump off the counter.

“Gabriel.” He says quickly.

“Gabriel. I mean, I really appreciate you protecting me and saving my ass, but I’ve had a hard time believing in the man upstairs. I mean he did take my dad from me, for no reason. He almost let Sam die. He let Dean take that deal for his soul to save Sam, and he let me die in his stead. What kind of god does that to his children?”

He looks to you, trying to find something to say. He then shrugs his shoulders and shoves his hands to his pockets. “You know. I got nothin’.”

You sigh and grab your bag. “What did you do with that Demon?”

“Why?” he asks confused.

“I want to see if his keys are on him. I don’t want to have to hotwire his car.”

“Oh, so you mean these keys?” he asks. He drops the chain in his fingers, revealing a set of car keys.

“Yes, that one.  _Trickster_.” You hold your palm out and wait for him to respond.

“So you know me?” he smiles, happy for a second.

“Not so fast trickster. You may be Gabriel, the Archangel. But to me, you’re nothing but a jerk. Who killed my boyfriend at least a thousand times. And I had to see it happen each time.” You put your hands on your hips. “I don’t really like you. I’d like to kill you actually.”

“Well, no one does. And as for wanting to kill me, get in line. It’s a long one apparently.” He looks you up and down. “I can see why the older Winchester likes you. All bite, brains  _and_  brawn.”

“Why did you save me?” you ask, knowing full and well that you wouldn’t get your answer, or at least an honest one. You had to try anyway.

“There will be a time and a place for an answer. Although the big man upstairs doesn’t want you to know about it quite yet. You have a few things you need to do first.” He replies.

“And what, pray – tell would that be?” you ask. You start to rub the bridge of your nose as a headache starts to blossom between your eyes.

“Well, for starters get out of here, and go to the Winchester brothers. And that drunk hunter. Dude. Person.”

“And what should I tell them? Of how I got back?” you ask.

“You’re a great liar. You’re a hunter for heaven’s sake. Make it up.” He says. You wrinkle your nose and make a face at him. “Also, you’re going to need this.” He holds the long sliver blade in front of you.

“What is this?” you ask, taking the metal grip in your hand.

“It’s an angel blade. It can kill angels and demons.”

“You’re giving me a weapon that can kill you?” you ask walking a few steps closer to him. “What’s stopping me from killing you right now?”

“You want to know why I saved you. Only I can answer that question.” He smiles and backs up a little.

“What do I tell them when they find out that I have an angel blade?”

“MAKE SOMETHING UP! For the love of my father, do you not have an imagination?” he asks.

“No. I don’t. I’ve been wasting it on those nightmares I’ve been having for what seems like a century.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Just make something up. And it hasn’t been a century. It’s only been a while. It’s September.”  
  
You let out a loud sigh. It had only been four months, even though it felt like it had been years and years. You adjust the knife down the side of your booth, and even check the magazine of the gun before looking to him once more. “I will be in touch with you when it’s time.”

“Thanks for saving me.” You mutter. You walk off, leaving the dead body to the angel. He could probably do something about it.

* * *

You sit in silence at working gas station up the street.  _There will be a time and a place for an answer_. What the hell did that mean? What if you didn’t like that answer? What if it was worse than the four months you endured in the pit?

What if in four months, Dean, Bobby and Sam have moved on? Would you even want to go home? Would there be a home for you.

So many things were running through your mind as you sat at the gas pump.

What the hell was even remotely true right now? You were so desensitized right now, that you weren’t even close to knowing what was true.

Sure, you could bleed. A lot. You knew that right off the bat. You knew you could bleed, because every time Azariah tortured you, her main result was making you bleed like a stuck pig. You could see the crimson liquid that poured from your body as you broke in to that gas n’ sip. You could feel the searing pain as your skin split.

 _You can feel pain, you idiot_! You thought to yourself.  _Cutting your elbow really hurt, so of course you can feel pain_. You were a baby when it came to pain.  
  
It was the running joke between you and your surrogate father Bobby.

You ran your fingers over the leather passenger seat of the car you were in. You could feel the soft textures, contrasting the smooth leather. You could feel the rough edges of an emery board in the cup holder, the demon must’ve stolen it from a woman. You could feel the sharp edge of the angel blade in your boot, rubbing against your ankle.

You could definitely smell. You quickly caught the scent of sulfur when that Demon stopped for you. But you were in hell for four months. The whole place reeked of sulfur and rotten eggs. So was it truth, or deceit? Could you actually differentiate, or was it useless?

The one thing you believed, and that was your sight. You saw the box  _you_ were buried in. You pulled yourself through six feet of dirt. You saw the decimation of trees and foliage around your grave. It took a lot of power to get you out, and you believed that. That was a lot of power, one an archangel had. And you  _had_  just met the archangel.

You could taste the food you had in your possession. The water quenched what felt like an endless thirst, but it only felt like a moment in time that you were relieved. Your hunger only dissipated momentarily. The fill of trail mix and twinkies wasn’t enough to fill your stomach.

You would only then truly believe it was all truth, and very real, was when you heard Dean’s voice. That he knew it was you, and believed it. That he knew you were alive.

You shove the car door open, and walk towards the phone booth. You dial Dean’s number, hoping he’ll answer.

His voicemail answered after one ring. ‘ _You’ve reached Dean’s other, other number. You know what to do._ ’

You growl, and deposit another quarter, and dial Bobby’s number.

“This had better be good.” The old hunter growled.

“Oh my god. Bobby. Thank god.” You breathed out a gust of air you had been holding in. If you couldn’t have Dean’s voice on the other line, Bobby’s was second best.

“Yeah. And who is this?” he asks. His voice hurts you slightly.

“Who is this? It’s (Y/N) you old drunk.” You reply.

“(Y/N) is dead. You better not call back.” And with that, you could hear a dial tone. 

Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. You thought of trying to call him again, but you thought it’d be best to get on the road and to Sioux Falls.

After finding more food, and filling up your car, you drove as fast as you could and headed towards your destination.

* * *

By nightfall, you were pulling up in your borrowed lancer, into the familiar junkyard. Baby was in it’s normal parking spot as you stopped, but instead of being in her usual pristine condition, the back windshield was gone. Glass covered the back seat, and dents littered her body.

“You poor thing.” You murmured. “I guess it’s been hell for them here as well, huh?” you ask yourself. You run your fingers over the trunk, and brace yourself against the body of the impala, preparing yourself for the worst possible reaction from your family.

You bound up the stairs to the front door and pound on the wood. You can hear Bobby grumbling because he had been woken up, as he approaches the door.

“What the hell?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hey Bobby.” You smile. You’re met with a rather rude greeting, the barrel of his Winchester, right in your face.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Bobby. It’s me, (Y/N). Your daughter?” you give him the most pained expression you can.

“My daughter? My daughter is dead, you black – eyed son of a bitch.” He looks to you, expecting something. He then grumbles as he has a realization. “DEAN WINCHESTER!” His voice bellows over the quiet lull of the TV in the living room. “GET THE HELL DOWN HERE!”

You only have to wait a few seconds, and Dean comes clambering down the stairs, possibly from your old shared bedroom.

“What the hell is so important, that you woke me up Bobby?” he growls. Bobby only has to point to you. You’re holding your hands up in surrender, and Bobby has his gun fixed at your heart.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks. He pulls out Ruby’s knife and points it at you.

“It’s me Dean. Honest.”

“You demon, she’s dead. I buried her.” He replies. He puts the knife to your throat.

“No. I’m not dead. I’m right here.” You growl lightly as Dean presses the tip into your neck a little. “If you have to, test me. I’m not a demon.”

Dean’s silver blade quickly slashes through your hand, and red pools in your palm until it drips to the ground, spattering over the toe of your boot.

“Shit.” You whine. You always hated it when you had to slit your palm. You always preferred the forearm. “Damn it, I hate it when you cut my palm. See?” you turn to Dean. “Silver, I didn’t react.”

Before Dean can say anything, Bobby has splashed you with what you assume is holy oil. You look to them annoyed, but you show that you haven’t started sizzling like you had experienced with your many demons.

“Oh my god. (Y/N)?” Bobby asks. You back up, trying to avoid the aim of his gun, or Dean’s knife.

Dean breathes in. He’s looking you up and down, holy water dripping down your face, blood now pooling on the floor. You give him a ‘ _yeah, who else_ ’ look and nod. He lets a low breath out, and takes a large step in almost one stride to be by your side. His arms wrap around you, tightening the space between the two of you, almost cutting off your air supply. His lips close over yours, bridging any gaps of space. You can feel him tear up, the salty condensation dripping to your cheeks. Even though you were wet with holy oil, you could feel it. Tears start to flood your eyes, as you tighten your hold on the large hunter before you.

For a second, your heart didn’t hurt as much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having a big nightmare, she finds herself on a small adventure with Gabriel. in this adventure (if you see it that way,) the reader also finds out her true heritage/lineage.

****You slip on a button up of Dean’s, and shove your feet in to your boots. The last thing you can do is sleep after that slew of nightmares.

You fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and then a second one, and you’re mind is lost in thought as you chew away. You can’t seem to find that lull to push you back to sleep, so you head outside.

You find the impala, still in it’s condition, and a few tools, and try to start fixing the car. The car that holds a lot of memories for you, so the least you can do is keep your hands busy. 

As the night continues on, and dusk approaches, you find yourself under the car, hoping you can find something to fix. Besides the noticeable dents and broken glass, Dean always kept her in good – no great – condition. There was nothing.

About two hours later, you hear heavy footsteps running out to you. “Oh thank god. I found her Bobby!” Dean sighs and sits down next you to, pulling himself to the undercarriage of the car. “What are you doing babe?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I had a really bad nightmare.” You are quiet as you tighten the bolts to the oil pan.

He looks to you, your face dirty from oil and smiles. “I’m sorry. Just don’t do that again. Please. You scared me. I thought you were gone again.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.” You drop the wrench and turn to him. He manages to pull himself closer to you, and kiss your dirty nose. “I had to do something, not being able to sleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I don’t even know what to make of it. I have so many questions. I don’t even know where I’d begin.”

You feel Dean crawl out from underneath the car, and then his hand wraps around your ankle pulling you out. You slowly sit up, taking his hand. “It was just a dream though.” He looks to you, trying not to make eye contact. “Babe? It was just a dream, right?”

“I don’t know, and I’m scared of the outcome.” You say. A tear starts to fall down your cheek, until tears are rolling down both cheeks.

“What was the outcome babe?” he asks. His tone changes, and he seems a little scared. Something unusual for him.

“An outcome I never, ever want to see.” You reply. You pull him close to you, cupping his face in your hands. You forcefully plant your lips on his, only wanting to feel him close to you.

“Come on. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I promise.” He kisses you, a deeper kiss and then he looks to you. “Now let’s go get you cleaned up and let you sleep for a while.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I need to figure this out. I think I might need to summon Gabriel.” You say standing.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dean asks, following after you. You are heading towards the house, a woman on a mission and he actually has to jog to keep up.

“Unless you know what the hell is going on,” you turn to him and put your hand on his chest. “Yes, I’m doing it.”

“Babe. I.”

“I’ll come back to you. I promise. And if something happens, you can summon the ass, and kill him.” You rise to your toes and kiss him on the lips.

“Oh, this is all so amazing, but why don’t we save the fluffy love fest for some other time?” Gabriel has popped in to the situation, and is standing on the steps in between you and your destination.

Dean slowly tries to make his way between you and Gabriel, but you push him away. “What are you doing here Gabriel?” He asks, and tries to push past you, but you hold your own.  
  
Miraculously.

“Your little love muffin rang, so to speak. So I’m going to take her on a little adventure, and she’ll figure things out afterwards. It’s easy. I’ll only take her for the day. What do you say about that Romeo?” Gabriel gives a little smirk, and you can feel the anger rumble off of Dean’s chest.

“If anything happens to her while she’s with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ll summon me, kill me, maim and mutilate me. Same old, same old. I got it.” He replies, waving Dean’s anger off.

Dean growls and you turn to him. “Dean. Babe. He’s the only one who can tell me or give me some sort of clue. I have to do this.”

“I don’t trust him. I don’t trust him at all.”

“I know. But I’m going to do this. Just. Trust me. If I don’t return tonight.” You turn to Gabriel and make sure he knows. “By eight. You summon his ass and make him bring me back.” You turn back to Dean and put your hand to his cheek. “Okay?”

Dean looks between you and Gabriel a few times. He kisses your forehead and nods. “Okay. Okay.” 

You kiss Dean back a few times. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies as you walk towards Gabriel.

* * *

The second Gabriel puts his hand on your shoulder –  _warranting a glare from Dean_ – you reappear in front of an old diner. It looks as if you’ve been tossed back to the early to late thirties. You brush Gabriel’s hand off of your shoulder and look around.

“So, what are we doing here?” you ask looking around. As people pass, you can definitely tell that you’re in a different era. They’ve got outdated clothes, and look at you as if you’re the odd people or out of date. You follow him inside before you get an answer.

“We are eating. This diner has the best burgers and pie in the world, and this era. I’m hungry.” He sits down and looks to you, waiting for something. You roll your eyes and sit down across him in the booth. The red vinyl squeaks a little as you take your seat and you fold your arms.

“Gabe.” You sigh. “I wanted answers. Not food. This isn’t giving me any of the answers I want.”  
  
“I know. But you’ve got to eat. Cereal isn’t enough for a beautiful gal like you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere Gabriel.” You mutter. You put your head in your hands and look anywhere but in his direction.

“Oh, I can try.” He smiles. He’s about to talk when a waitress, in a polka dot dress and roller blades approaches.  
  
“Hello handsome, what can I do for you?” She turns to you and sneers at you. “And your friend?”  
  
“Well, my beautiful friend and I will have two of your house burgers with everything on it, and two pieces of pecan pie. Please.”

You felt sort of grateful for Gabriel standing up to you, so you give him a small smile to thank him. You sit in awkward silence together as you wait for your food, and after you start to eat, nothing still has been said.

“So, I’ve eaten a greasy burger and an over sugary pecan pie. Are you going to get on with the point of this time travel jaunt?”

“I want you to see something. It’s coming up. Right. About. Now.” Gabriel points towards the front door opening.

Right on cue the door opens, and two people walk in slowly. You are surprised to see a look – a – like of you, walk in along side a Gabriel look – a – like. The look – a – like Gabriel gives a smirk to his future self and kisses the past – you on the temple.

You had a gorgeous navy blue dress that peeked under a fitted, tan trench coat and your hair was curled and pinned up in a fancy way. Past – you pouts your blood red lips as past – Gabriel pulls a chair out for you. Gabriel looks sharp in a navy blue suit, adorned with a red tie and navy blue fedora. He gives past you a kiss on the hand and then stares at you, making you slightly uncomfortable.

“What the hell is going on Gabriel?” you turn your gaze to the man in front of you.

“I want to show you where things sort of started. I mean we still need to go back a lot further. Quite a while, actually. But I actually like this era. You were sure a looker.”

“So what, we were “together” in this time?” you ask emphasizing together with air quotes.  
  
“We have been for quite a long time. But not like you think. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, we have, have we?” you laugh. You take a sip of your water and look to him.  
  
“I know that it’s going to take a long time to believe me (Y/N), but I at least need you to know of your past. Regardless of what you feel now. Or later. You know what I mean.”

“Okay. So let’s get this over with Gabriel. I have a worried hunter at home. And by the way, the point of calling you wasn’t to meet the ghost of my boyfriend past.” You reply. You bite down on a fry and chew until it’s swallowed.

“What was your point then?” a cheery voice asks. You look up to Gabriel, but he hasn’t said anything. He shakes his head and turns to look away. At the head of the table, past – you and past – Gabriel are standing.

“The dreams.” You look to your Gabriel and then past Gabriel quickly. “I wanted to know if it was true. If all of it is going to be true.”

“Well, right now that isn’t important.” Past – you retorts. She sits down next to Gabriel, and past – Gabriel forces his way in to the booth next to you.

“And what would be more important than that?”

“We need you to remember.” The Gabriel’s reply, in sync together.

“Remember what?” you ask, your voice full of exhaustion.

Past – you put a hand on your Gabriel’s shoulder, and past – Gabriel puts his hand on your shoulder. In an instant your carbon copies grab hands and disappear. The four of you reappear quickly, in what appears to be a vast wasteland of dry rocks and dirt.

“We need you to remember who you are.” Your Gabriel looks to you and folds his arms across his chest.  
  
“You need me to remember who I am?” you ask. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I was raised by hunters until their death, and after that Robert Singer took me in and raised me at six. I’m hopelessly in love with the older Winchester and the idiot he is, and I just spent four brutal months in hell, I’m not in the mood Gabriel.” You look to both of them. “Either one of you.” 

“What do you remember of the first decade of your life?” the past you asks. She’s changed her appearance a lot. She’s wearing what almost looks like knight’s outfit; complete with a sword, a quiver of arrows and a bow. She had tight leather pants and a chainmail under a maroon shirt. The terrain quickly changes to a dense forest, and all of you have similar outfits on.

“N – nothing. Nothing actually.” You shake your head, trying to recall any memories. Your past – most of the past was blank. The only memories you had were of Bobby, then the Winchesters.

“This is why we need to take you on a little adventure.” Past – you says. “We need to find out where you stopped remembering.”

“I can tell you what I think. I think it’s that Winchester boy. He’s keeping her from her true calling.”

“Oh shut up, you know you can’t. It’s not my fault you fell in the love with the.” You both look to both Gabriel’s pouting and she sighs. “You know.”  
  
“Come on, woman to woman. Why are you being so cryptic?” you look to her and wait for some explanation. You put your hands on your attempt to scare her, but hell – she was you, and that tactic never worked on you.

“I. You need to learn your lesson. You need to figure it out first before we do anything. Tell you anything.”

“Well,” you huff. “This is going to be a long day.”

* * *

You find yourself walking after a few seconds of staring down with the Gabriel’s. The hunter in you keeps your bow at your side, prepped with an arrow.

Past you takes her place with her past – Gabriel and walks ahead. Your Gabriel makes sure that he takes the end of the group, and you walk down a trail.

“So, you’re shockingly quiet about all this.” Gabriel speaks up from behind you.

“I don’t know what good speaking up will do for me. Will you take me back to my time right now?” you ask.

“No. I don’t think so.” He gives a dry laugh.

“So, silence is probably my best bet.” You mutter.

“She’s stubborn.” Past – Gabriel says chuckling. “I kind of forget that you’re like that.”

You ignore Past–Gabriel nudges the older version of you, and look around, trying to occupy your mind. You walk under a canopy of trees fanning over the small dirt road.

“Well, you should remember that she does have a temper. And she’s the only one in the dark right now.” Past you looks back and can see the frozen glare on your face, directed towards Gabe. “Don’t antagonize her.”

You silently thank yourself, because both the Gabriel’s leave you alone. Ten seconds only pass, and your Gabriel is at your side, grabbing your arm in a hurry.

“What happened to not antagonizing me?” you ask grumpily.

“SHH!” he mutters, clapping his hand over your mouth. You only register that someone is following you, or about to attack when a branch snaps.

Past you looks at you apologetically. She snaps her fingers and in a second, you’re left alone to your defenses. You pull the bowstring taught, running the feathery vanes of the arrow in your fingers. You made a mental note to yourself; after this you would definitely let Dean kill Gabriel. You release an arrow as the handle of a sword makes contact with your temple.

* * *

You slowly gain consciousness. Your head is pounding, and you can feel a trickle of blood dripping down your cheek. A woman is circling you, in a tight corseted dress. Her long (Y/H/C) is the same as yours, and you assume it’s somewhere around 1412 you who led the attack on you. Or you are the reason why the rest of your group abandoned you. 

“Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas. Omnis.”

“Are you seriously trying to exorcise me right now?” you grumble angrily. You shake your head, trying to gain your vision, and it goes right back to blurry.

1412-you looks around, surprised that you know what she’s doing. “Omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregation et secta diabolica.” Her sweet accent rolls of her tongue in an almost French accent.

“Perfect. Just perfect. I’m in 1412 France and my bloody guardian angel ditched me, and I think I’m a demon. Could this get bloody any worse?” You mutter to yourself. The woman circling you has paused and is staring you up and down. She’s confused, knowing that if you were a demon, you should react to the exorcism by now. “You can finish the exorcism. It isn’t going to help.” 

She give a sigh. “Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam secure tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus audi nos.” She braces her self, but nothing happens and you give a slight chuckle.

“Alright, you aren’t a demon, but you are a shape shifter. You are taking on my form, so you can take over this camp.” 

“And I’m guessing you don’t have silver to test that theory, do you?” you are half tired, a quarter amused and one hundred percent done with this whole day. You just wanted to be with Dean. Maybe you didn’t want to know what the hell heaven wanted you for.

“Okay. I’m ready to go home!” you yell frantically. Your head hurt, and you couldn’t seem to concentrate long enough to free yourself from your rope bonds, a fete that was usually easy for you.

No one appears, and the woman in front of you is no longer alone. A man is standing next to her, his dark hair ruffled messily. His crimson shirt covers part of his chainmail, and a sword rests in a scabbard, which his held in by a belt. His piercing blue eyes almost trapped you in his gaze. 

“Je ne sais pas quoi faire.” Clearly Frenchie doesn’t trust you. Enough that she starts to speak in fluent French. She looks to the dark haired guy and to you a few times. “Elle n'a pas exorciser, et elle sait que l'argent va prouver qu'elle est pas un décalage de forme. Pouvez-vous sentir quelque chose?”

“Come on, I’m not going to do anything.” You gripe. “Can you please let me go? I really want to go home.”

“Why would we let you go?” the man speaks. He has a deep voice, almost scary. He speaks with a clear American accent. “She’s in charge, and she doesn’t know what to do. She says you didn’t exorcise and you know about silver and shape shifters. Who are you?”

“So that’s what she said. You know what, I just want to go home. Let me find that jerk and he’ll take me home. I’ll be gone. Just don’t hurt me!”

“What jerk?” French you asks. “What is a jerk?”

You growl deeply. “Gabriel.”  
  
“Oh.” Frenchie and the man speak together, finally understanding you.

The man looks around, searching the trees. “BROTHER! Get out here now!”

“Oh come on,” Gabriel chuckles as he appears. A small wind picks up from his wings, and he appears next to the French you. “I had to get past her and me out, or we’d be gone.”

“I want to go home Gabriel. NOW!” you yell. You add a cold glare for emphasis.

“Is this her?” the man asks.

“Yes, it is. And she doesn’t know who in the hell she is.” Gabe replies.

“You do know I am right here, right?” you ask. You struggle against the rope.

“I’m so sorry.” Gabe mutters, coming to your side. He kisses your forehead, and in an instant the sharp pain in your right temple is gone. With a snap of his fingers, the ropes binding your wrists tightly together, are gone.

You stand and look to him. “Get me out of here.” 

“I can’t right now. I need to make sure the rest of us got home okay.”

“So you’re expecting me to stay here? Alone?” you fold your arms indignantly across your chest.

“No, Castiel will protect you.”

You look to the dark haired man, and back to your guardian angel. “You know, for a guardian angel, you aren’t doing too hot.”

“I promise, I’ll come back. This is necessary.”

“Necessary. Right. Well, if I’m staying here, you might as well go back to my time and bring Dean back with you, because if you don’t, you’re going to have to deal with an indignant child the rest of the trip. I’m really good at that.”

“I’m not bringing him back. I’m risking a lot having you here. I promise you, you will get answers.”

You cross your arms and look to both angels. “How can I trust any of these people? Things?” Your gaze catches the man known as Castiel, or the angel apparently.

“I am an angel of the lord, I will protect you.” Castiel replies coolly.

“I’m a hunter. I don’t trust very easily.” Your hand tightens around your wrist, willing the pain of rope burn away. Even though it’s gone, you still remember. You look back to see Gabriel is gone.

* * *

Silence is deafening, and you can’t help but wish you were back in the impala, listening to Dean sing, or tap the steering wheel to a drum solo. You want anything but this awkward silence, or the fact that a very past self is staring at you, and giving glances to Castiel.

It was probably only a few minutes, maybe ten at the most, but it felt like a lifetime before Gabriel returned.

“Have you triggered any memories?” he asks looking to Castiel and then you.

Castiel shakes his head no, and looks to you. “Maybe you should just tell her. 

“He wouldn’t. The trickster like to make things difficult.” You stare out into the dark. “I highly doubt that making things easy for someone else is in his DNA.” 

“If you listen, I will tell you, and then I can get you back to your lover boy before he summons me back to him to kill me.”

You clasp your fingers together. “I should let him kill you. Some guardian angel. Ditching me, letting me get hurt, and ditching me again! In 1412.” You look over to past – you, who’s been quietly looking in to the fire. She has a small bound leather book in her lap, and she’s holding an ink–pot. She dips a feather in the ink, and slowly starts scratching and writing things on the paper. For what seems a few minutes, she’s scratching the quill against the paper, writing, blotting out, dipping it back in the ink – pot. After a few minutes, she closes the book. The ink – pot disappears with the quill in it, and then the book disappears.

“You want to know the truth?” past you asks future you.

“That’s all I’ve been asking.” 

“Are you prepared to hear the truth?” Castiel asks.

“I guess I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.” You shrug your shoulders and give them your undivided attention.

“In all religious lore, each religion, most religions have archangels. Gabriel, Michael Israfil, Azrael, Metatron, Uriel, Raphael. Each angel has a specific task. Gabriel is a messenger of god.” You scoff as he says god, but Castiel continues. “Michael is a leader of the army of god. Israfil. He is an Islamic angel. Metatron, the scribe of god. I can go on. There is a reason you have so many gaps in your life.” 

“And what does that have to do with me? I’m nothing special. I may have forgotten my childhood, but that’s normal. Especially with the blunder of a childhood I had.” You look to the three people across the fire from you. “Are you going to sit in silence, or will you just tell me what the hell is going on?” you ask quietly. After the day you’ve had, all you wanted to do was lie in Dean’s strong protective grasp.

“The reason there are so many gaps is because there is too much to remember (Y/N).” Gabriel smiles softly. “Or should I call you Azrael?”


End file.
